Saving Grace
by Enochian Whisperer
Summary: AU: While Castiel is in Jimmy's body, Jimmy's conscience is forced to surface and it leaves an angel trapped in the recesses of his being. And this angel is fighting to claw his way back out.


**Trigger Warning:**** Do NOT read this piece if you are at risk for being triggered by insanity wards and other dark themes. **

**Inspired by Imagine Dragons's Radioactive.**

**This was originally meant to be more Destiel-oriented, but it wound up getting undertoned instead.; Frankly, now that I'm looking at this again, I have no idea what I was thinking when putting this together, but if it doesn't wind up making sense to you, then that's good, because I can't offer any explanations myself. Insanity can do that: it can leave unanswered questions.**

* * *

_I don't know where I am_. That's the first thought that crosses my mind when I wake up. _I don't know where I am. I can't move and I don't know where I am. Where am I? I don't know where I am, someone tell me where I am!_ Terror grips me and it's more restraining than then cuffs that are holding me fast. I panic, yanking, and thrashing and my voice is surging in lapses. My heart is pounding wildly and it _hurts_. Breathing is becoming harder to do. Hands reach out and force me back down. I see a mask descending and I do all I can to keep it off of my face. Fingers grab me by the hair and hold my head in place. Elastic snaps around my head and face and the mask is fitting over my nose and mouth. I'm screaming. I feel a sharp sting in my right arm. A needle is plunged into my skin. I keep fighting, but my resolve begins to break down. It dissolves, bubbling away like the carbon in a soda. Fighting is getting harder. It's tiring. I want to sleep. I don't want to sleep. I need to stay awake, but I can't. _What is happening..._

Forced sleep is restless sleep. I have vivid, impossible dreams. I feel something. It feels alive. I don't know what it is but it's _in me_. It feels electric. It courses through my veins. I can feel it in my bones. It doesn't feel right. I don't like it. Suddenly I'm awake again and my hips jerk up from the table. My back arches and I can't breathe. The mask is still on my face. They're pumping me with something. It's a gas that tastes tangy and foul. I'm shaking. Something is stabbing me. I feel razoring pain in my shoulder blades. There's something there, and it feels so heavy. I can't see. A light is blinding me, and I hear a sharp ring in the air. It doesn't stop and only gets louder. It hurts my ears, and I'm screaming again. My eyes are burning. I want it to stop. I want to die. And then I'm gone again.

* * *

_It's arid here. It's dead here. There are no plants, only sand. Sand and fences and walls and bars. I'm standing alone. I'm wearing white. Am I dead? No, it's only another dream, I realize. There is no pain here, and I'm glad. I see that I'm not alone after all. There are other people walking around, but I can barely see them. They are animate smudges in the portrait in front of me. I don't move from my spot. I observe. The sky is the most colorful thing I see. It's more hopeful than me. But it's blocked by a wall._

* * *

Something is happening to me. That energy is humming again, and it's building pressure. It's looking for an escape. I'm waking up again, and I'm gritting my teeth so hard. There is no air here. At best, my distress manifests as small straining sounds. It happens again and I jerk up, but something gives me a jolt and the energy flees from the epicenter. All at once, glass shatters, metal creaks, cement cracks noise thunders in the air. I don't see any of the damage, except for the ceiling, which is webbed with fissures that weren't there before. I can relax again, and I do. I don't mind the chemicals I'm inhaling. I'm hardly aware of the blood poring in my sweat.

* * *

_I'm sitting in front of a mirror. I'm wearing white again. My reflection isn't. He is wearing a suit. We stare at each other as I try to discern meaning from this. My reflection tells me things. He tells me to remember who I am, no matter what they do to me. Who are they? My reflection doesn't tell me. My reflection doesn't know because my reflection is me and I am him. This information is useless to me. I know who I am. Do they want me to forget? Why? My reflection tells me that they always want you to forget, regardless of who they are. The last barrier that keeps you from becoming them is remembering who you are. I don't want to hear this. I'm scared and I all I want is to go home. But where is my home? I can't remember. I search for home, but I can't find a name or a place. This terrifies me. I'm already forgetting. My name is Jimmy Novak. I hold onto this with my life. _

* * *

They talk to me for the first time that I can remember. They tell me that they are trying to help me. I don't believe them for a minute. _My name is Jimmy Novak_.

* * *

_I'm picking flowers. I'm standing on a grassy hill and I see a valley before me. The sun sun is setting, and there is a breeze, even though I don't feel it. The bees are kind to me. They bring me honey and water. Don't ask me how. I'm not sure how either. They care for me, and I love them. I sit in the grass and watch the sun set. The sky is fantastically prismatic. It's blue, then purple, then pink, then orange, then yellow. I tell the bees my name so that they remember me._ _My name is Jimmy Novak_.

* * *

I'm still in bed. I'm in a new room though. There are tubes and wires all over me. I'm tired. I realize I'm hungry. No one comes to feed me. They are already doing that. I'm choking on the tube in my throat. That pain is coming back. It's tearing in my shoulders. I can't call for help, but help comes. I'm gagging up the tube in my throat as they pull it out through my nose. They don't realize I'm in pain. I'm writhing, shouting and yelling as they restrain me again. The lights begin to flicker and then bulbs begin to shatter above us. Sparks shower from the ceiling and I'm in tears because it hurts so much. They put me under again.

* * *

_There is a man here. I feel like I should know who he is but I'm at a loss. He smiles kindly at me. His hair is light and tuft, and his face is fuzzy with bristles. He says something endearing. He runs his fingers through my hair. A name begins to surface. It starts with a 'B'. His smile doesn't falter. The man tells me to stay strong. His voice is different. He asks me if I know who he is. I tell him I don't know. His smile is saddened. He tells me not to worry. He will save me. I hope he isn't lying, because I don't want to wake up again, and I'm slipping back already._

* * *

I'm still restrained, but there's no reason for it. I'm not in pain right now, and I'm not in panic. I feel better. I'm told its a safety measure. For whose safety? Mine? ...Or theirs?

I'm happy that I can eat again. I crave steak, but they don't give me steak. I ask questions but I don't get straight answers. They just tell me that I need to trust them because they are trying to help me. I don't understand. I can't trust them. I spend a lot of time with myself. I try to remember things. But I can't remember how I got here. I can't remember where my home is. What did I do for a living? Do I have a family? Friends? My only friends are the bees and 'B' man. I think about Mr. B, but trying to unearth lost memories is a goose chase, except that I don't even know where to begin looking. My name is Jimmy Nova.

* * *

_I'm at an oceanfront. Everything is blue, and the waves wash up around my ankles. I search the water vainly for pearls. _

* * *

They're monitoring me always. I'm alone, but I don't feel alone. I keep hearing things, but I'm not sure if it's my imagination. My ears ring on and off, but if I listen closely, I can almost hear whispering. I only catch syllables though. I search for the voices, but when sifting the sand, my hands turn up empty. The whispers are clearest when I'm about to fall asleep, but they are only syllables.

* * *

_There is a lady here now. Her hair is very red and long. She stares at me with wide eyes. She looked like a curious doe. Her mouth hangs open a little, showing peeking white teeth. I see something around her. It's almost invisible, but it moves. Her eyes begin to glow. Come back, she says. _

* * *

For the first time, I know a name other than my own. Doctor Fisher. He is the one who is overseeing my case, he tells me. He sits down with me, and this is the first time someone asks me how I am feeling. I feel surprisingly not bad at the moment. But that doesn't make me dislike this place any less than before. Doctor Fisher's answers aren't vague. He explains everything to me. I understand now. The Doctor trusts me enough to unfasten me from my bed. But before I can get up, he tells me to stay put. Doctor Fisher gives me a notepad and a pen. It's a writing exercise, he says, it's therapeutic. I'm free to write whatever I want. I write _My name is Jim Nova. _

* * *

_I'm in the woods. There is a threat looming in the dark. I don't know what it is, but I can sense it. I'm running away from what I don't know. Suddenly I spring from the ground, and I'm soaring up. I break from the trees, and I'm flying. _

* * *

Doctor Fisher visits me again, and we sit together. We talk. I tell him how I am feeling and- ... I mean to tell him about my dream, but I don't. For some reason, I feel that I should keep my dreams to myself. There is doubt in Doctor Fisher still. He will have to earn the right to access my private worlds. My name is Im Nova.

* * *

_My sleep is dreamless. I do not dream._

* * *

For the first time, I'm allowed to leave my bed. I'm happier than I have been in a long time. Walking is harder than it should be. I need a walker. After I lose my footing, I'm confined to a wheelchair. I'm not happy about it, but it's better than being stuck in bed. I have a nagging feeling in my back again, and I tell Doctor Fisher about it. He explains that I had lacerations. I have stitches and I need to be careful. For the first time, I'm allowed solids.

* * *

_I'm floating in darkness. There is nothing around me. I'm troubled by this. But then my foot taps something solid and there is ground beneath my feet. There is a sheet of glass in front of me. I'm looking at the glass but I don't see anything beyond it. I'm left to sit and wonder. I hear a ticking clock somewhere in the Void. The whispers visit me here. They are telling me I have to get out. Get out right now-!_

* * *

I whip upright in bed. I'm panting heavily. I cringe because my back tears. I'm sweating and choking back the pain. It feels like a knife sliced jaggedly there. I ignore the pain. My legs feel numb but I try anyway. I hop out of bed and collapse. I need to get out, I decide. This place is dangerous. I'm not safe here-! I drag myself to my wheelchair. It's hard, but I pull myself up. I guide myself to the door and carefully turn the knob. Somehow they knew, and I fought them. I was bound again. Doctor Fisher came in and tried to talk to me. I keep yelling that everyone is lying to me. I want to know where I am! Doctor insists that I calm down, and I do. The Doctor tells me he will ask me a few routine questions. He asks me if I know his name. I tell him Doctor Fisher. Good, he says. What is my name? I tell him _Im Novahu_.

* * *

_A question comes to me in my dream. What do I look like? I look into a mirror, but I see no reflection._

* * *

I don't trust Doctor Fisher, but I have no intention of fighting him physically. I do, however, insist on battling him in my own way. I lie. No matter what the question is, my answer is a lie. I'm self-aware. How many days have I been here? I don't know the answer, but it would never be longer enough for me to forget my own appearance. I ask Doctor Fisher for a mirror. He is compliant, but I still do not trust him. I look into a mirror that he holds for me. I see an unfamiliar face, but it is definitely my face. My reflection is stroking his cheek, just as I am stroking my own. My skin is surprisingly smooth, except for some acne scars. I have almond eyes. I can't see my pupils. My skin is darker than I remembered, and my hair is darker as well. It's shorter too. My fingers are more slender too. I don't believe it for a second. This has to be another lie.

* * *

_I'm sitting at a kitchen table. There is a little girl sitting across from me. She is bouncing up and down in her chair, saying lunch, lunch! A pretty woman appears and serves us sandwiches. I don't know what is happening, but I guess that this is my family. I have a mom and a little sister. _

* * *

Doctor Fisher insists on another writing exercise today. When I ask him how long I've been here, he tells me for about three weeks. For some reason I don't find this hard to believe. I ask for privacy. I'm not comfortable with Doctor Fisher watching me as I write. He leaves me to my thoughts and tells me he will return in an hour. I have the notepad and pen in my lap. My leg itches. I reach forward to scratch it, but the tear in my back stops me. I regret leaning forward because I'm howling now. Help arrives and I'm doing it again. I'm fighting. I don't care if they can make the pain go away. The pain is more real than anything else. I don't understand. I don't understand how the lights short-circuit again as I'm writhing. The monitors get shoved away from my bedside and tear the according needles and clips from my arm. I don't know how that happens either. But another injection puts my tantrum to rest.

* * *

_The whispers are back. They are much more vivid now. I can't understand the voices, but they are louder. I feel something heavy on my back. I can't see it, but it is a burden._

* * *

I wake up with a mask on my face. I can't talk. It's okay. I don't feel like talking anyway. I'm too tired to talk. So I just breathe. It's the only thing I can do to pass the time. I don't even care if it's that same tangy gas from before. I'm drowsy. _My name is Im Novahugh..._

Doctor Fisher returns. I wonder why he hasn't given up on me yet. I've almost given up on myself. I still don't trust him, but I don't want to fight. I answer his questions honestly. He tries the writing exercise with me again. I don't want to write. He doesn't force me to. He lets me go around in the wheelchair instead.

Every now and then, I still hear ringing in my ears. It's not as sharp or loud at it once was, but it isn't just a ring to me. I hear voices. Beautiful voices. But I still can't understand them.

A television is put in my room. I instantly mistrust it. I don't want to watch TV. I ask Doctor Fisher if I can do the writing exercise instead. He says no. He turns it on for me, and then he hands over the remote. He tells me I can watch anything I want. How long has it been since I've watched TV? I can't remember. But I channel-surf and decide on a cartoon. It seems entertaining enough. But then the cartoon gets violent and I don't like it. One character is torturing another on a flatbed. I don't like it. He is pulling out instruments of torture and I don't like it. He is sawing off limbs and _I dont like it! _I want to change the channel, but what do I do instead? I hurl the remote at the TV screen. I miss by a long shot, but somehow the TV set is thrust back. It tips and crashes. My back is burning.

The next time Doctor Fisher visits, I ask him questions. I ask him why he would let me watch programs that would trigger me. He explains it as a part of the exercise. I don't understand. He tells me that it is an assessment of my health. I still don't understand. He tells me that the explanation will be made clearer to me later on. I ask him about his other patients. I ask him how many other people are under his care. I have yet to see any other patients in this facility. He tells me that I am his only patient. I believe him.

* * *

_There are eyes everywhere and they are all watching me. The eyes are different colors and sizes and shapes. Some are menacing and fearsome, others are soft and inviting. The whispers are back. They're saying a word. Just one word._

* * *

I decide that I want to start keeping a journal of my dreams. I ask Doctor Fisher for a notebook and he gives me one. He says I can write anything I want and he will never ask to look at it. I don't trust him about that, but I accept the notebook he gives me. The blue cover strikes me familiarly somehow. I don't linger on it, and begin to write. I try to write down as much as I remember, but my accounts of the first days are frighteningly blurry in my mind. Has my memory deteriorated that much? I am determined to not not let any more escape from me. I should have been doing this from the start. I jot down everything that I can, even my name.

* * *

_I'm with my family again. My sister is playing in the front yard and I'm reading a book. I don't know what book it is, but it gives me an idea._

* * *

I ask Doctor Fisher for a Bible. He seems very pleased with this request, and gets me a copy. I decide I'm going to read this from cover to cover. It will help me to pass the time. But maybe it will also help me to heal. I don't know. But it is worth a try. After I write down my dream, I read about creation and the fall of Man.

Doctor Fisher has me take a written exam. It's a health assessment, he says, and the questions are multiple choice. There are no wrong answers. That makes me feel better. I complete the test and give it to Doctor Fisher. He hands it back to me after a moment, and asks me to write my name at the top. I'm confused. I asked him why does he want my name? I'm his only patient. Yes, but there _are_ other patients in this facility, he says to me. I just happen to be the only one under _his_ jurisdiction. The other patients must take exams too. He doesn't want to lose mine. I understand. I write down my name.

I'm finally allowed to go outside. I don't care if a nurse needs to accompany me, I'm just overjoyed to see the sun again. Outside is beautiful. There are so many colorful flowers here. It's very lush. It's a floral utopia. I wouldn't mind sleeping here at night. But that is far out of reason. I see my bee friends again, and I am happy. They don't seem to remember me by name, but I am still happy.

Doctor Fisher comes back. He sits down with me, but something feels different today. His smile is still the same as he hands me back my exam. _Jimmy, why didn't you write your name down_, he asks. Jimmy? Who's Jimmy? I don't understand. My name isn't Jimmy, I tell him. Yes it is, Doctor Fisher tells me. I insist that it isn't. Then Doctor Fisher pulls something else out of his pocket. It is a booklet. He flips it open and show it to me. The page he is showing me has scraps of paper taped on. Those scraps have my name on them in my own handwriting. I look them over. Each name is different. The names progressively change as follows:

_Jimmy Novak_

_Jimmy Nova_

_Jim Nova_

_Im Nova_

_Im Novahu_

_Im Novahugh_

_Im Notahugh_

_Im Nota Hugh_

_Imnota Hughma_

_Imnota Hughman_

I don't understand. The last name is definitely my name. Why would I write those other names? I can't deny that I did. They are all in my handwriting. My back is starting to feel hot. I ask Doctor Fisher why he is showing me this. Doctor Fisher sits back and tells me to look at my recent name. I do. He asks me if it looks like anything to me. My back is really beginning to hurt. I shake my head. Look at it, he tells me. I am. The pain is starting to spread. The wiry feeling in my bones hums and I'm shaking. I'm looking at the page and I don't want to see it, but I do. It was right in front of me and I couldn't see it until now. I lose my voice. But the words burn.

_I'm not a human. _

_I don't understand._

_I don't understand._

_I don't understand, I don't understand, I don't understand, I don't understand. _I look to Doctor Fisher for an explanation, but he doesn't give me one. The ringing in my ears returns and I can't shut it out. I cover my ears to block out the noise. I can still hear it, and it gets louder. I curl up, saying no over and over again. The ringing dilutes into blurry voices, droning in my head. I can't see. I'm being blinded by a light. My back is being torn and I'm gasping and choking and my chest is spamming because I can't breathe. Why isn't Doctor Fisher helping me? The voices aren't just speaking. They are speaking _to me_. They have been calling me this whole time, and now I understand what they are saying.

_**"CASTIEL!"**_

I'm shrieking and my voice is ringing. My back is arching and I feel something tearing its way out of me. Bones are snapping, muscles are tearing, and I'm screaming. The ground is shaking, and lights are exploding and I can't take it but I'm still awake. Energy is rushing out from God knows where in me and it is the only relief that I feel while my back is being ripped up and shredded by God knows what. I don't know what is happening to me but I'm dying. I feel myself dying. I don't care about dying. I just want it to stop-

My eyes flip open and I gasp for air.

"Cas!"

Suddenly, for the first time, in a long time, I see a familiar face. I nearly cry.

"Dean-" I croak.

My best friend is here. I have never been so happy.

"Don't worry, Cas, I'm right here," he takes my hand and squeezes it. I reach up to touch his face. Dean stifles a chuckle, "I'm real." I sigh and slacken. I'm spent. I don't want to move.

"_I was... just making sure..._"

"I'm not going anywhere," he tells me. I believe him.

"_... What happened..._"

Then I realize something that gives me a burst of adrenaline.

"SHIELD YOUR EYES!"

Dean jumps back, but nothing happens. I wrench upright and I feel a heavy weight on my back. It drags, scraping broken glass and debris on the littered tile floor. I couldn't see it then, but I can now. The terror is still frozen on my face, but when I find Dean's eyes, they are filled with awe.

"That's... your Grace?"

Two wings. They are mine. And they function. They are big, glossy black wings. They brush over the floor, before flicking up a little. This makes Dean jump, but my wings settle back down. He's never seen my Grace before, so his reaction is expected. But I'm at a loss. I have no idea how he can look at me without his eyes burning. Humans can't perceive Grace. They shouldn't be able to. But then again, Dean was always an exceptional human being, even from the time he was born.

I try to get up, but my Grace is heavy when physically manifested. Dean has to help me up, and I'm certain that he's resisting the urge to touch my wings. My Grace furls, folding up so that I can maintain my balance. The pinions still drag on the floor and I realize that I can't walk as well as I would like to. I still don't know how long it has been since I've last walked. I see the corpse of what was once Doctor Fisher. Describing it would take skills beyond my capabilities. It is grotesque, at best description. Dean helps me to sit in the wheelchair instead, and my wings spread themselves again.

We don't talk about what happened. I don't want to think about it. So I sit in silence and Dean waits for me. I can read Dean's mind, and I know he is itching to ask, so I give him permission.

"You can touch them... Avoid the shoulders and the down."

Dean swallows and steps forward. Carefully he feels my coverts. He looks fascinated. It feels strangely pleasant when he dares to dig his fingers underneath. He explores my secondary pinions next. He begins to straighten my feathers for me. It tingles, and I feel like I'm melting. Dean stops and I open my eyes.

"Sorry, I, uh, got a little carried away," he scratches the back of his head. I search his eyes, and I know that he wants to address the bigger situation. I exhale quietly, and focus.

I lift my wings, stretching them as far as they can reach, and they catch fire. Celestial energy pulses through me, and it feels unimaginably empowering. Slowly, my Grace burns away in white smokeless flames. The flames sear my back when reaching me, and I grit my jaw. Dean is clearly amazed by this spectacle. But even this is tiring. Dean has to keep me from tipping out of the wheelchair.

I don't mind falling asleep this time. Or passing out. I can trust Dean.

* * *

_We don't ever speak of it. We get back on track, doing what we do best. Everything from that time is still unclear to me. Was Doctor Fisher really my enemy? They harmed me, but... were any of them my enemies? If it wasn't for them, I would have been stuck, trapped by Jimmy's conscience. How did Jimmy's conscience overpower mine? I don't know how this happened, but in truth, those doctors saved me. But Jimmy wasn't my enemy. He was just as much a victim as I was. I can only guess that something forced Jimmy to awaken while he was hosting me. It forced me down into subconsciousness, and that harmed Jimmy. I don't know if I will ever be able to explain it, but it has made me certain that there is a powerful being that poses an immense threat. The fact that I don't know what it is... scares me._


End file.
